


The reluctant debut of Wallace Fennel, badass

by JaqofSpades



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wallace discovers he has his own, particular brand of badass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The reluctant debut of Wallace Fennel, badass

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Wallace Fennel Appreciation Week on Tumblr. Given it's late, it will also do nicely for Weevil Navarro Appreciation Week ;) (Written somewhat to the prompt on the VMFicRecs tumblr for Wallace Week.)

 

He leans over Mac's shoulder, staring at the name flashing on the screen, the evidence they've spent nearly six hours looking for. It's nearly midnight, Veronica hasn't been seen since she took Logan and his broken hand to the hospital half a day ago. Piz has left him a half a dozen messages that have just crossed the line from forlorn to pathetic.

“Guess that means I have to go,” Wallace says, and Mac turns to looks at him, mouth tight with concern.

“Just … tread lightly. Wait 'til Veronica comes back? Sleep in Parker's bed!” she offers, and any other time, he'd be all over that offer. But Veronica had kicked the hornet's nest when she took on the Castle, and Gory Sorokin wasn't about to be swatted easily. But this. This he could do.

He texts Piz to tell him he'll be another twenty minutes, and reminds him about the away game he'd wanted to cover for his show. Make a weekend of it, he'd suggested. They'd been mostly packed before the shit hit the fan in the cafeteria. (And then the shit really hit the fan.)

Wallace won't look at Mac as he leaves, figuring he has “going to see Weevil” stamped all over his face. 

“Be careful!” she calls after him, and he just waves because he's still learning to lie. But then, not every college freshman has to deal with the human lie detector herself.

And he's about to step up to the plate.

He'd stolen Weevil's address out of Veronica's phone but he'd never been to … whereever Lomacita Court was before. It's some sort of trailer park, but instead of twangy country music, it's the musical tumble of the telenovelas spilling out into the street. The Ku Klux Klan aren't about to get him here, but the Latin Kings might.

Number 9 doesn't have a number, but it's easy enough to find with Weevil's green monster parked outside. 

The former gang leader is talking on his phone when he opens the door. He eyes Wallace balefully, then grunts an abrupt “later, dawg” before snapping the phone closed.

“Watchu doing here?”

“You mean, you don't know about Veronica going head to head with the local mobster's son in the Hearst dining hall?” he says wearily, because if there's one thing he learnt at Neptune High, it's that Weevil hears everything.

“Heard about Echolls going ape, too,” Weevil retorts, shaking his head. “But I repeat – why are you here?”

“Because I know who the real bad guy is. And Veronica can't ever find out.”

Weevil's eyebrows shoot up onto his forehead, and his grunt is something between pure shock and do-I-really-gotta-know. 

Wallace stares at him a minute, reconsidering, but then figures there had to be a reason the ex-con had always been Veronica's go-to guy. Favours, she'd say, but the way she smiled when she said it … 

“So, you got a plan or what?” Weevil rumbles, kicking the door wide.

Two hours later, they're on the road.

*

“That was pretty badass back there,” Weevil says idly as they roll across the border into Oregon.

Wallace had been worrying about the wisdom of drinking four cans of Red Bull in two hours, so it takes him a minute to realise - “back there” was five hours and several hundred miles ago. Piz had ambled out of their dorm room easily enough, but the minute he'd seen Weevil waiting for them in the carpark, he'd shot a panicked look at Wallace and tried to make a run for it. 

It was like the angel of vengeance had swung a fiery sword over his head, christening him with pure wrath.

“The fuck you don't,” he bellowed, and sprinted after his quarry. Wallace might have come up to the white dude's shoulder, but he was a baller, man. No escaping the mighty number 11. Three long strides was all it took, and he didn't stop, leaping and crashing down as if he meant to slamdunk Piz into the tarmac. He was almost fucking disappointed by easily the bigger dude just crumpled beneath him, realising suddenly how much he wanted to beat on the guy. Thrash him. Punch and kick and stomp him bloody.

But Wallace wasn't fucking Logan Echolls, so he satisfied himself with yanking Piz's hands behind his back, and tying them with the length of rope Weevil kept in his trunk. Really fucking tight. 

“Pop the trunk,” he'd gritted out, and Weevil moved quicker than he'd ever seen him. When he'd gotten done with dumping Piz, Weevil was regarding him with a respect he'd only ever seen directed at Veronica before. 

It almost wiped out the guilt of knowing it had been _his_ roommate, _his_ goofy new buddy who had bought the spy gear to tape film himself having sex with Veronica. And then passed the recording to Gory Sorokin.

And now Weevil was telling him he was badass.

“Nah. Felt good though. Never thought I'd need to hurt anyone.”

Weevil's laugh is incredulous as first, so disbelieving that Wallace automatically tenses up, waiting for the former gang leader to make fun of him.

“Really? Jesus. My whole life, that was the only thing people thought I was good for. My fists, you know? The beat down.”

He looks away, and the rush of wind past the open window snatches most of what he says next. 

“Only Veronica ...”

Wallace swallows, shocked by the longing on the poor bastard's face. Fuck. Complicated alright.

Weevil clears his throat and looks back at him. “You know what was badass? You did what you needed to, and then you stopped. Echolls wouldn't have done that. Don't think I could'a walked away, either.”

Wallace frowns. “You call this walking away? He's tied up in the trunk and we're gonna drop him five hundred miles outta town!” 

Weevil shoots him a sidelong glance. “Yeah. We're taking him home to his momma. Not kicking him into a pulp, or rolling him off a cliff. That bluff we just passed? Perfect for it. He stays gone, and Vee never even has to know what the scumbag did.”

Wallace's heart stops in his chest. It's a good plan. Solid. Weevil's probably used to keeping secrets, and Wallace has _way_ underestimated what the guy is willing to do for Veronica. Maybe that's why she never tells you anything, a voice jeers somewhere inside his head. She's got someone she can rely on to do her dirty work. Knows you can't quite cut it.

He nearly chokes on his indecision, and Weevil leans across to pound him between the shoulder blades, the angry Impala fishtailing in response. The pounding in back starts up again, and there's faint yelling now too, angry and pained.

He knows, suddenly, why Veronica keeps him around. Knows why Weevil let him in, and listened to his plan. Wallace Fennel has his own particular brand of badass. 

“Keep on driving, dude. Maybe I'll let you explain that plan to him as a what might happen if he ever shows his face in Neptune again.”

Weevil nods, and if Wallace isn't mistaken, his smirk is vaguely relieved. 

“Ya know, if Vee was here, she'd have rolled him off that cliff already.”

Wallace smiles. “Yeah. I know. Which is why I'm here.”

Weevil shakes his head, and there's an edge to his laugh which suggests he doesn't think it's funny at all. “That girl, man. What's she got that makes us so fucking stupid for her?”

“Really bad taste in boyfriends? Superb taser skills? Killer legs?” he answers flippantly.

Weevil pretends to consider each one, before shooting him a slow, evil smile. “Can't disagree with any of that, but you forgot one ….”

“Balls of steel,” they chorus, and just like that, the tension's gone.

*

Piz's home town is called Roseburg, and the Piznarski chalet actually has a bed of fucking roses growing either side of the gate.

They look at each other and start to grin.

There's no one around, so Weevil takes the time to tell Piz just how many tall cliffs there are between Neptune and southern Oregon, and how many times Wallace just saved his life.

Piz starts to blubber his thanks, and Wallace lets him go for a bit, then leans into the trunk to make his point.

“You come back? I'll throw you off the fucking cliff myself,” he says coldly, and damn. _He_ even believes him.

Weevil's switchblade gets Piz naked within seconds, and a quick heave leaves him face down in the roses, screaming.

“Ouch,” Weevil pantomimes, then tosses Wallace the keys. “Your turn to drive.”

What had Weevil said? Something about 8V? Lots of horses? 

Fucked if he knows, but when he puts his foot down, the car shudders and bucks until he gentles it up to speed. Raw power, tightly leashed. Not easy to control. 

Just as well he's a badass, Wallace smirks as they roar back onto the highway, heading south.

_End_


End file.
